


All I Wish Is To Dream Again

by Seeking_Xanadu



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Batfam needs lessons in empathy, Batfam needs lessons in how not to be an asshole, Batfamily (DCU), Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is not a machine, Dick Grayson-centric, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeking_Xanadu/pseuds/Seeking_Xanadu
Summary: Dick Grayson is tired. Some think being an asshole makes them "cool" - Dick, the originator of cool, thinks otherwise.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 27
Kudos: 369





	All I Wish Is To Dream Again

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s the thing. I am very tired of this whole _thing_ in fanfics where Jason makes a habit of using derivatives of the word “dick” in place of Dick’s name. All Batfam members have a tragic history of some sort involving their parents and these guys should be the last ones to _joke_ about parents or what parents bequeath to their children. My parents gave me a “simpler” name because we were far away from our homeland and the fear of my future teachers and classmates butchering or insulting my name was real to them. I know of friends and cousins who went abroad and simplified their name themselves to avoid hearing a butchered version of their name. Names are powerful. When _fic-Jason_ refuses to call Dick by his name, Jason is rejecting Dick’s self-chosen identity and is forcing another identity on Dick, something Dick has not chosen for himself. It becomes even worse in the context of Dick being a _Romani_ \- a community that has faced genocide, from governments of various Asian and European countries, for identifying as Roma.  
> This is genuinely a vent fic for me; reading how easily fic writers use Dick’s name as an insult makes me tired and upset.

Dick Grayson was tired. He rarely admitted that to himself. No, no, don’t misunderstand him. He was aware of his body’s limits and he had often pushed those limits beyond their breaking point. He is intimately acquainted with exhaustion and it was not unheard of for Nightwing to miss a night’s patrol to get one night’s beauty sleep in two, or even, three nightly instalments.

It is his parent’s 20th death anniversary in two days. Every year, as the countdown nears the day his entire life was snatched away from him, Dick finds his body winding down, the adrenaline dying, his heart stuttering. He finds it hard to breathe, so he withdraws, he meditates, he breaks down, he wails, for what could have been. But that is still two days away. 

Dick is tired now. The bone-deep tiredness that overwhelmed his very soul and made him feel as if he was watching himself from a distance. Why? Alright, because you are asking nicely, here’s why.

Earlier in the afternoon, Bruce had called in Dick for help with a case about a long demolished factory that had been cropping up in random cases. If Dick had wanted an extra pair of eyes on a case, he would have sent the files to whoever was free at the time, and allowed them space and time to study the documents. Not Bruce, apparently. Bruce believed in a gruff command “Come to Gotham. Need eyes.” And Dick being the idiot he was, took a look at the message and presumed it was an emergency. He rushed home from work, changed, packed his night activity duffle, wheeled out his civilian bike, and raced to Gotham before rush hour traffic clogged up the highway. 

As it turned out, one really long look – which arguably took the better part of six hours – told him what the clan had missed. He put the documents and files back into the 4 cardboard boxes, walked out of the library with a single file of his proof, and went down into the Batcave. 

As Dick turned into the cave, he saw Tim and Jason were crowded by the Batcomputer looking at some case files and, thus, totally missed his entry. Damian was booting up and nodded at him as he passed by tousling the boy’s hair. With no eyes on him, Damian didn’t feel the need to put on a performance of disgust. At Dick’s warm smile, the kid blushed and ducked his head. Dick walked to the engrossed duo by the computer and peered over their shoulders. Looking at the names in front of him, one jumped out from a really old case – one of his last as Robin; “Look up Sionis’s dockside operations.” The two younger boys jumped. 

“Dickhead!!!” came Jason’s high whine while Tim stood there with a hand on his heart, staring at him. Dick would have laughed if Bruce hadn’t come striding just then, fully suited up, but cowl down. 

“Dick,” came the hoarse voice, “Agent A will be on comms; whenever you are done, relieve him.”

“I am done now. Too late to go back to my patrol; A can have a night off.”

Bruce braked in his stride. Tim narrowed his gaze at him. Jason gaped. “Dickface! You were supposed to look through all the boxes.”

“And I did,” said Dick. “Look, this is a file of all relevant docs I could find. There is a single unifying thread through them all.”

“Come on, Dick. We didn’t give you a case that we didn’t want to investigate. We looked. There is no connection between any of the cases at all,” Tim said dryly.

“There is a connection.” Dick was firm. 

“Explain,” gruffed Bruce. 

“Look, B. The factory shows up only peripherally, right?”

“We know that, Dickweed. That fact is right there. Is that your great finding?” Jason interjected. 

Dick sighed as he ruffled the pages – sometimes, he wondered at himself. 

“Grayson – ?” Good. Now Damian was here too. 

“Hey little D,” whispered Dick as he moved to the desk by the computer and spread out the sheets. 

“The first time the factory link ever shows up is in 1995 - a local chemist involved in a murder-suicide. Friends say, prior to working as a chemist in St Mary’s, he was chief chemist at “some factory”. In 1997, a former engineer is found dead in the woods. He was 64 and cause of death was said to be heart attack. In 1998, 4 families in and around the old grounds are hospitalised of which 2 people eventually die. There was nothing conclusive, but doctors suspected lead poisoning, so the city carried out water testing and replaced a few water pipes around the area. Later that year, a leak exposes a link graft link between a foster home, a law firm, and the local juvenile centre. One of the lawyers is found shot dead, authorities claim it was suicide; family insists he didn’t own a gun. Nothing for a few years, then in 2001, a gang war on the deserted grounds – Black Mask and Penguin’s men. 16 dead. In 2005 – the MacAllin Machine & Foundry owner disappears, isn’t found for nearly 20 days when his chopped up body parts are discovered in the river. Go back a bit. In 2002, the city builds a housing colony because the grounds were attracting drugs, gangs, and the homeless. Ten years later, a little medical paper on constant respiratory complaints among residents shows up for 2 seconds before getting buried. All these crumbs indicate a structure existed on the grounds – Oracle couldn’t find anything, because everything, including the demolition, was either done on paper which was promptly destroyed or more likely, no paper was involved.” 

Dick pauses, straightens, and looks back at the others. They are looking intently at the papers. Jason, as usual, is the first to break focus. He whistles as he says “Well, fuck me Dickie!” 

“Jase, I speak not this in pride but in disdain; not that I scorn thee, but that thou aren’t my type,” deadpans Dick. Jason splutters as Damian snorts and Tim breaks into giggles. 

Bruce, as usual, only harrumphs. “How did you know to look for the paper?” His ice blue eyes sharp on Dick’s own blue. 

“Old hands at the bar below my apartment talk of rumours of a hushed up gas leak. Everyone thinks they are gabbing; talking of dangerous things to brag. I know those men – they don’t make a habit of nattering.”

“So what are you saying?” Tim looks troubled. “Poisoning – how has that flown below our radar for so long?”

“Military records,” Bruce snaps as he sits down on the computer to set up a search. “That would explain how cleanly the entire thing was erased.”

“Nerve gas?” questions Tim. 

“And a serial killer, apparently,” adds Jason. 

“Father, is this our new case?” Damian chirps from near Dick’s elbow. 

Bruce pushes back his chair as he gets up and puts on the cowl. “Patrol, now. We will work on this.”

“Little D, patrol with me tonight?” asks Dick as he turns to Damian. 

It is Bruce’s stern voice that answers. “No, relieve Alfred and man the comms.”

“Father is right, Grayson. Pennyworth said you missed your dinner. You should rectify that oversight while we are enroute.”

“O-kay,” drawls Dick. 

“Thanks Dick. If I didn’t know better, I would think you have an eidetic memory like Babs,” Tim pats him on his back as he walks past. “I can’t believe you lucked out at first go.”

It shouldn’t hurt, really. “Well, the work is only starting for you guys,” he croaks out.

“Dick, I don’t want you sneaking out in my city. Whatever happens, stay here,” Bruce completes his last minute check of his gauntlets and armour and he starts to move away. “What - ?” Dick stammers.

“Seriously Dickwad, how do you do this on cereal?” Jason sniggers as he fiddles with his helmet.

“Jase, do you mind?” There is a sharpness in Dick’s baritone and it reminds the boys in the cave that this is a man who has worn the cowl to distinction. 

“What the fuck,” Jason startles as a fist curls on his jacket and finds Dick’s seething face a breath away from his own. 

“I know you are not an idiot. Why, then, do you work so hard to prove you are so mercifully free of the ravages of intelligence?”

“What the flying _fuck_ are you on about?” Jason struggles to loosen Dick’s white-knuckled hold on his jacket but is quickly realising he has managed to tangle with Nightwing. 

“I have a name – just stop being such an asshole, Jase!” Dick snarls.

Jason stands there stunned. “jeez Dickie it was just a joke,” he insists.

Dick stares at him a beat longer. Then opens his stiffening fist, and with both hands pats down the Red Hood jacket. “Yes, Little Wing, just a joke,” he sighs.

He turns and gathers up his duffle. “Fly safe, Dami,” he says to Damian who is watching him, brow furrowed. He sends a final look at Jason and Tim. Dick is already regretting his outburst. But for once, his fear of losing family is less than the utterly miserable heartache at hearing _jokes_ about his name. Dick won’t apologise about it. Walking back to his bike, he notices Bruce watching him blank-faced from where he is stood by the Batmobile. As Dick nears, his bitterness takes over again, “The beginning of wisdom is to call things by their right names, B. You, of all people, should know that. Make my apologies to Alfie. I am going back home.”

Dick is tired. And as he straddles his bike and snarls out of the cave, his heart cracks.

**Author's Note:**

> The lines "I speak not this in pride but in disdain; not that I scorn thee, but that thou aren’t my type" are from Shakespeare's As You Like It. A callback to Dick being a Shakespeare fan.   
> The line he says to Bruce - "The beginning of wisdom is to call things by their right names" is an old Chinese proverb, sometimes attributed to Confucius.   
> Dick is known to have read a lot of philosophy as a young teen and I see his deliberate way of speaking as having been influenced by an early exposure to classical philosophy :D


End file.
